Wings of Courage
I woke up to birds chirping outside my window this morning, nature's not-so-subtle hint that the feeders were empty again. After bundling up against the Welsh morning chill, I headed out to the driveway with my humongous cup of birdseed.
I scattered handfuls across what I jokingly call the "neighborhood bird café," which is just a little spot under our hedgerow. Job done, I scurried back inside to watch the show from my office window. What happened next made me laugh out loud.
The local feathered residents had definitely spotted my offering. They lined up along the top of the hedge like they were waiting for a bus! Finches, sparrows, and a couple of cheeky robins all stared down at the seed buffet, heads tilted, not a single one making a move.
Seriously, not one bird budged.
Marble Troubles, Sandy Blessings
Have you ever noticed how we tend to remember the negative far more vividly than the positive? I certainly have. Last week, while chatting with a friend about our past year, I found myself dwelling on the challenges like health flare-ups, ministry disappointments, and frustrating conversations. My list of troubles flowed effortlessly, while I struggled to recall specific blessings.
It struck me later that I’d been etching my trials in marble while letting my blessings wash away like footprints in the sand.
This peculiar human tendency reminds me of Joseph in the Bible. Talk about someone who could have clung to bitterness! Sold into slavery by his own brothers, falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, and forgotten in prison by the cupbearer, Joseph had a mental museum of grievances he could have displayed.
Instead, when naming his sons, Joseph made a remarkable choice.
Lord, Is That You?
The other day, I mentioned I was watching old Looney Tunes cartoons. Well, the very next day, another Looney Tunes video popped up in our feed, and this time it was Jason who indulged in some animated nostalgia. While I busied myself in our kitchen, the sound of his hearty laughter echoed from our bedroom.
At one point, I paused my dinner preparations, tilting my head to identify which character was speaking. Was that Foghorn Leghorn's boisterous southern drawl or Yosemite Sam's gruff, fiery outbursts? The more I listened, the more perplexed I became. Could it be the same voice actor behind both iconic characters? (As I later discovered, indeed it was, as the talented Mel Blanc voiced them both!)
What struck me as peculiar was how I'd never noticed the similarity before.
Breakfast in Bed
The other morning, Jason and I were sitting in bed, watching a show. It had been a crazy busy week and even crazier weekend, so we decided to take an easy morning. We had just finished breakfast in bed when I noticed Tess pulling at the covers.
She usually does this when she's cold and is trying to get snuggled under the blankets. I hardly gave it a second thought at first, assuming she wanted her usual warm nest between us. However, on this particular occasion, she had a different goal entirely.
I watched her unusual behavior for a few minutes. She would tug at the blanket, disappear from the bedroom, then return moments later to hop onto the bed. Each time she returned, I noticed a slight crunching sound. Curious, I paid closer attention during her next trip.
That's when I suddenly realized what she was doing.
Learning to Unload Before We Overload
Life in rural Wales comes with its own peculiar challenges, not the least of which is grocery shopping. When the nearest proper supermarket is a good thirty minutes away, online ordering becomes less of a convenience and more of a necessity. Jason and I have our system down to a science. The delivery arrives in stackable plastic crates, we unload everything, and then return the empty crates to the driver.
We even have our division of labor sorted. Jason tackles the refrigerated and frozen items while I handle the pantry goods. It works seamlessly... well, most of the time.
During our most recent delivery, Jason gestured toward what appeared to be a single crate sitting on our kitchen table. "That's all pantry stuff," he said casually, already turning his attention to the cold goods.
I nodded, reaching for the handles of what I presumed was one solitary crate. I'd taken precisely two steps when physics delivered a painful lesson.